Date: Thu, 16 Dec 2010 04:21:50 -0800 (PST)
From: Sameer N
Subject: Cycle of punishment - Part 1 (Gay - Authoritarian)
WARNING:
This story contains sexual acts between boys. If this is not to your taste,
and/or is illegal in your area please do not read any further.
Please do not distribute it to any newsgroups and/or web-sites without
permission from the author.This story has been embellished. While a lot of
it did happen, most events has been altered to make things interesting and
particularly to change names, times, places. All of it was consensual. At
no time did I get raped or sexually assaulted against my will.
*********************************************
The summer of 89 will always be etched in my memory as the turning point in
my life - from being a deeply closeted gay to a closeted gay who got his
first taste of what it might feel coming out. I was 18. I had had all the
fantasies one could ever imagine, but none of it had been real. There were
lots of boys I'd befriended, and almost all of them had been in my
fantasies. I'd cummed liters of cum, playing various scenarios in my mind
with them. But I'd never had the guts to try and get close to even one. And
by close, you know I mean, like maybe, finding out what they looked like
under their shorts. Yeah, I know what you'd say, no locker room scenarios?
No drunken parties? No one pulled my pants down, even in fun? Uh uh. We
were kids in a cantonment in Delhi, India and if something like this did
happen, it was all very quietly done. Or may be I was just stupid to not
know how to ask the right questions to the right people, with the clever
deviousness of distancing myself from any form of gay-ism, if I happened to
find out that those people were remotely homophobic.
But there were boys. Everywhere. And as boys played, so did we. We
congregated at the one and only playground for the 100 or so homes in that
area. We considered ourselves fortunate to have one. Some months it would
be hockey, or cricket. Those few weeks it had turned out to be soccer. We
played until dark and beyond exhaustion. And after that we'd sit down on by
the road and talk. It'd usually be one of the parents that would end up
breaking us up by yelling out our names - for dinner or whatever. And then
we'd disperse almost spontaneously, finding our ways back to our
homes. Mine was a couple of blocks away and too far for anyone to yell out
for me. That evening I'd walked home, alone (as always, since none of my
friends lived close to my house), completely oblivious of the fact that
that night would be one heck of a turning point in my life.
I'd already been home for almost half an hour when I heard my name being
yelled out from outside. Our homes were all single family homes and mostly
had fences around. Mine had a wall at the end of which was a gate. I
stepped out onto the gravel and walked to the gate to see what the ruckus
was about, this late in the evening. This was very unusual and rarely
happened. Mostly because the parents in the neighborhood were fairly strict
about anyone leaving the house around dinner time.
I was surprised to see three guys. Two were on their bicycle. The third had
almost certainly ridden on the middle bar of one of bikes. My curiosity
piqued. They were brothers and my only acquaintance to them was on the play
ground. Caesar was around my age. Jason was barely 13 but an inch taller
than I was. In contrast, I was a head taller than Caesar. Mark was the
oldest and he'd have been 20 then. He was also the tallest, definitely a 6
footer. All were lean - not particularly athletic and had a much darker
skin than most kids in my neighborhood. On the other hand, I was around
5'5, skinny and like most of the kids in our neighborhood, had a much
fairer skin (white by Indian standards, lightly tanned by Caucasian
standards). Another reason I hadn't hung out with these guys because unlike
most of us, they went to a different school - a public school.
"What's up" I said, loudly and confidently but not yelling, as I climbed up
my gate. I had the habit of doing that. The gate had rows of alternately
inverted strips of metal that had the shape of a spade (the ones you see in
a deck of cards). I had to climb a couple of rows so that I could
comfortably rest my elbows on the top of the gate as I spoke to them.
Caesar was the one that spoke up first. He was the one on foot and by then
had already reached the other side of the gate. He reached up to hold the
gate but mildly surprised me when we got a hold of my belt, pulled me
forward and hooked the belt onto the stem of one of the inverted spades on
the gate. I looked down to see what he had done and didn't take it amiss at
that time. I found his hand holding on to the buckle of my belt. It felt
akin to someone holding the base of my tie mocking a threat - only it's my
belt he was holding onto. Even before he spoke, I knew this wasn't going to
be entirely fun. He had to look straight up at me as he spoke.
"Are you missing anything?", he taunted.
"What?" I had no idea what he was referring to.
"Should we tell him or let him find out in a few days?". He turned around,
now grinning at his brothers. I looked for clues on the faces of these
guys, but still didn't get it.
"Get your bicycle, we'll show you.". Now he was looking again at me.
I thought for a moment and then said, "OK". But even before I'd fished
saying 'K', it hit me. "Oh shoooooot. Did I leave it on the play
ground?.... Damn!!!"
"Did I leave it on the playground? Now he remembers." He was mocking
me. "You have anything here?" he went on to say.
For a very brief moment I did not quite get what he meant by "here". I was
hoping to find his index finger pointing at his temples or head or
something. Until ... woahhhhh .... I felt his fingers pinching either sides
of my zipper, desperately trying to get a hold of something underneath
it. Had he moved his fingers a bit to his right he might even have found
what he was furiously trying to reach.
I violently attempted to get my hips away. An instinctive reaction that was
thwarted by the belt being hooked onto the gate. I was - yeah - pinned to
it.
And before I could even make sense of it all, the very next thing I felt
was his cold hand now entering the left leg of my short and find its ways
onto my underwear. His index and middle fingers were already moving side to
side on the surface of my underwear looking for the first signs of anything
that did not have the same feel as my thigh... very much like the tongue of
a snake trying to sniff it's prey out.
This was all too fast for me, but even then, my dick had begun to stir
... like a prey instinctively knowing that something was amiss. It was his
middle finger that first struck mid-shaft of a still very much flaccid
penis. And the next thing I knew, he had already latched on to my dick, his
thumb curling on one side and his middle and index fingers getting a grip
on my shaft the other way. I could now feel the pressure of the nails on
both the fingers bear down on my underwear akin to the fangs of a snake
getting it's first quick bite on a spot, based more on opportunity than by
selection, making it's first set of incisions deep enough to inject just
the right amount of venom to dazzle it's prey. Now the pressure kept
growing and I winced with the pain and shuddered at the thought that his
nails may now have penetrated the fabric of my underwear. My penis had
started to grow, just a little at this point, like a prey beginning to feel
the first effects of venom traumatizing nerve cell upon nerve cell as it
coursed through the tissue. But then the pressure began to ease, but very
quickly, his fingers having sensed the change below my underwear and began
exploring the length of the shaft, in both directions, until they figured
out exactly what they were hoping to find.
The next thing I could feel was the pressure of his thumb through my
underwear, its nail digging deep into my still fairly soft uncircumcised
head. The snake had now found the most effective spot on its prey to sink
its fangs in for a second time and decisively inject a copious and
potentially fatal doze of venom. I let out an "Awwww...." but not loud
enough to alert anyone around. My foreskin was still covering the head of
my penis and I could feel his nails digging deep into one of its folds. I
was almost certain I would see blood on my underwear later. It took a bit
of time for my flaccid glans to feel the full effect of his nail before my
penis grew to its fully erect form gradually extending upwards toward my
left. The snake had now exhausted its venom into its hapless trembling
prey. It could safely leave its prey and return at a convenient time for
its next go at it.
His fingers loosened their grip. I could feel his hand slide down but then
only to feel it crawling back up again, this time from under my briefs. The
skin of his rough oily fingers now touching the soft skin of my inner
thigh. They soon moved upwards until the tips moving all the way until they
first brushed against the skin of my ball sack and then onto the base of my
dick where it joined the folds of my scrotum. Then with one fell swoop, his
hand got a hold of my entire dick and pulled it all the way down. Until
then my erection had been pointing upwards, but in that last moment, the
base of my dick had endured a savage tug and along with it he had ended up
uprooting a good number of pubic hair that were growing above the base of
my penis. I forced myself to keep it down, but could not avoid another
"Awwwwwwwww... you craiiizy.................?".
The snake had now made it's first attempt to swallow its prey and as the
pressure of his grip settled down, I felt the urge to twitch my penis. This
was crazy, but in the middle of my brain somewhere, there was this battle
between wanting to put an end this madness and giving him enough cues to
keep going. On one hand this was getting way too risky. What if these guys
revealed all of this to my friends? What if any of my neighbors were
peeping through their windows, seeing just enough for them to know what was
happening? But temptation of exploring the unexplored won over. I managed
to squeeze my arse cheeks closer and engineer voluntary twitches beginning
with my anal sphincter to the tip of my throbbing rod, with a devious
intent of giving Caesar the exact same sensation of a dick in the throws of
dry ejaculation. I subtly wanted him to know that I was willingly
permissive of every bit that he was doing to me.
Keep in mind that all of this had happened in seconds. In the middle of all
of this, he was saying something to me... the sounds of which were befogged
by swings of excitement and anxiety that had gripped me. Something along
the lines of "Do you have anything here? ... got any shame leaving the
bike? ...What if it got robbed ... rich spoiled kid ... think we are
servants?"
After I'd pushed my anal sphincter to as many spasms as I could fake, I
could get no more. I caught up at the last question. I now feared that if I
did not respond, Caesar might lose interest and pull away.
I did not quite know what to say. With each question, he shook my dick,
pulling it downward. It had the effect of pulling my pants upwards giving
me a wedgy, painfully parting my balls and cutting into my sack and it
hurt. I heard myself ..barely whispering .. more like groaning
.. "Awww..pleeeees...I'm sorry .. come on man, I didn't call you guys
servants ..."
"What sorry?" Then he went back to "Anything in here that proves you're a
man? probably still a baby."
I was stuck for words.
He persisted. "Have you even tried shagging.... what?". He didn't wait for
an answer. "Do you have any juice in here?" he asked as he shook my penis
tapping my nutsack, jostling my badly stressed left testicle.
"um...uh...uhh" ... I really did not know what to say.
"Looks like nothing in there...." And now he began masturbating me. He had
loosened his grip somewhat and as he moved his hand up and down, I could
feel my glans popping in and out of my foreskin, on occasion pounding the
base of his wrist.
Wow!!!! I couldn't believe what was happening. Wasn't he even afraid of
someone catching us do this.
"Caesar! Not here.. let's go now. Call him home tomorrow!" I heard Mark say
in a sharp urgent tone.
Boy! I'd have loved and hated spilling my seed. I was so close for the
orgasm of my life and yet it would have been accompanied by embarrassment
or shame going in with my pants wet or worse, cum dripping down my legs.
I was sorry to feel Caesar's hand moving out of my shorts.
"Come tomorrow to our house to pick up your cycle." he yelled before the
three of them turned around and departed into the darkness.
For someone who turned white at the slightest hint of dirty talk, it was
some day. I couldn't believe that I'd take the risk of allowing a stranger
(you could call him that) to touch me on my privates in plain public view
of at least 2 others. He had literally felt the moisture of my foreskin,
felt the ridges on my scrotum, rolled his palm on the most sensitive part
of my penis, soaked in on droplets of my urine, stolen the scent of my
precum and gotten away with strands of my pubic hair. I had a feeling that
Caesar wanted more. Hopefully he'd get rid of his brothers when I'd go to
pick up the bike. I'd begun to trust the guy enough to open up to him
completely.
To be continued....